


Victims of Circumstance - 9/20 – Unexpected Progressions

by motsureru



Series: Victims of Circumstance [9]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-29
Updated: 2008-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motsureru/pseuds/motsureru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for Season 1 and Season 2. This is a <b><span>sequel</span> </b>to <i>Any Other Night</i>, which is a <b><span>sequel</span></b> to <i>Broken Glass. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Victims of Circumstance - 9/20 – Unexpected Progressions

**Author's Note:**

> An enormous amount of thanks to  [](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/profile)[ **etoile_dunord**](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/), who edits my commas and makes me happy doing it. <3

**Teaser _:_** _Once upon a time, this number would have been one of avoidance, of bitter, suspicious gazes, but, over their time together, the music had changed and something new pervaded the air._

.9Unexpected Progressions

 

“This is _unacceptable_! Absolutely unacceptable!” Bob slammed his hands down loudly on the top of his desk, making his daughter jump in surprise. Elle stood with her hands held together, head bowed as her father shouted. Her blonde bangs covered her guilty features.

“I didn’t know he wasn’t taking the pills, Daddy. I couldn’t have-”

Bob shook his head, staring at her intensely from behind his glasses. “No excuses! I thought I could trust you with this, Elle, and clearly I can’t give you that much responsibility! You have no idea what you’ve done!” Bob leaned back up again, looking from Elle to the Haitian, who stood calmly by the door. 

“But you’re going to fix this,” Bob continued, taking a deep, calming breath. “You and the Haitian are going to track down Peter Petrelli and Adam Monroe and bring them back no matter _what_ the cost. Do you hear me, Elle? I’m not sure you’re listening closely.”

She nodded stiffly, pursing her lips in a guilty manner. She couldn’t remember the last time her father had been this angry, and she was angry herself, angry at Peter for deceiving her. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Go right now and get a car ready. You two are going to check the hospital where Nathan Petrelli is first. _Go,_ ” Bob ordered sharply, pointing his finger to the door. Elle was quick to turn and stalk out, jaw clenched to contain herself, hair whipping behind her.

Bob took in a slow breath again, looking over his glasses at the Haitian as the door shut behind Elle. “We can’t afford to lose Petrelli and Monroe. We need them for the next round of developments to go into effect.”

The Haitian lifted an eyebrow, tilting his head at Bob, an unasked question lingering in the air. He wasn’t aware of any plans that were going into effect, and Bob seemed to reaffirm that with an understanding look as he straightened his tie. 

“You haven’t been briefed yet,” Bob began, “but we’re going to require your services especially, soon. Certain biological research is beginning again here at the company, and we’re just now reaching critical stages of new work. I don’t know if you’ve been around long enough to remember Mrs. Pratt, but even if Victoria does not want to come back to our company again, the show must go on, and we have someone else.” 

Bob rest a hand on top of his computer screen, glancing down at the security films that showed Elle rushing to the parking lot. He finally looked back up at the Haitian, expression as grave as his voice. “Our backup plan if something goes wrong isn’t quite ready yet. So I need you to find them and find them _now._ Keep Elle on task, or we’re going to have to do something with her.” 

The Haitian nodded once, turned, and exited the office. This was going to be a problem.

 

 

“Stop that, we’re in public,” Mohinder whispered, giving Sylar a small elbow to the gut.

Sylar made a quiet grunt of protest, but the smirk on his face said that he wasn’t really sorry. Mohinder was standing in front of him on the crowded morning bus, and Sylar had made it his business to stand close behind the man, letting his lips tickle the back of Mohinder’s neck whenever the tires moved over a sharp bump in the road. One hand was holding onto the bar above to steady himself and the other Sylar had placed conspicuously on Mohinder’s hip.

“What? This is France, we can be as open as we’d like in public,” Sylar murmured, pressing a small kiss to Mohinder’s neck again. He could hear the blood pulsing through Mohinder’s cheeks and got a thrill of satisfaction from it. Mohinder was not as amused. He landed another, harder, elbow to Sylar’s ribs.

“I wouldn’t like public displays of affection in any country, thank you,” Mohinder hissed back. He had felt a little nervous at the decision to bring Sylar into the lab while Sebastian was still around, and though it would have been nice to feel some sort of reassurance before that encounter, Sylar was only making things worse.

Sylar had woken up in a positively cheerful mood, far more upbeat than Mohinder had seen him in some time. They had gotten ready and out the door with minimal delay, if one didn’t count the constant teasing Mohinder had endured. The side-effect of Sylar’s good spirits happened to be amorous, and Sylar had been pinching and prodding at Mohinder all morning, keeping close enough to the man to make him feel uncomfortable every moment. The last thing Mohinder wanted was the sudden urge to have sex before they reached his place of work, and Sylar was making that very difficult to avoid.

This morning, he was a perfect contrast to Mohinder not only in spirits, but in a fitting dark blue shirt and black slacks, while Mohinder’s light colors were offset even more by the lab coat he donned once they had arrived. In fact, Sylar stood out from almost every individual in the lab, and when they began to stroll the hallways towards Mohinder’s sector both men were sure that every individual who passed Sylar had given him a look up and down simply because of his dark presence and debonair attitude. Sylar may as well have been strutting, he seemed so pleased with himself for being there with his company.

Mohinder and Sebastian’s laboratory was, in its own way, quite unlike many other people’s laboratories. Sylar had been expecting a clean, sterile, and drab white environment, but what he found was… a representation of what he supposed Mohinder’s mind could be at most times. One half of the room was, in fact, a series of counters that stood independently with their clean surfaces, test tubes, various microscopes, centrifuges, and other expensive materials neatly organized and presented with an air of professionalism. The second half, however, looked as though the contents of Mohinder’s brain had been accessed by means of opening the skull and dumping out the contents with a brisk shaking motion.

The back of the lab had two desks facing one another and many shelving units surrounding them in an L shape. The farthest wall was a whiteboard with a variety of scribbles on it, and all over the shelves and surfaces were stacks of papers tossed here and there, while any available space on the wall held pictures of blood cells and other lab records taped up in clear view. Mohinder’s desk had at least three cups of coffee stacked on it (amid the chaos of reference books and print outs) and Sebastian’s, opposite it, was no better. Sebastian had, in fact, put his desk lamp on _top_ of a pile of books in order to utilize the limited space. 

Sylar stared from the meticulously neat half of the laboratory to the disastrous one, lips parted in awe. “Mohinder… it’s… so… you,” he managed from the doorway while the doctor rounded a countertop to head back to his desk.

“Now, don’t even start to think about cleaning it; I keep the apartment neat for you, but this is my space,” the man clarified.

Sylar held up his hands in surrender as he walked in, looking over his shoulder at this machine and that. “…You’re right, you’re right… I’m not judging here. I’m just surprised you found someone as ridiculously untidy as you are to work with.” Sylar crossed the room to their desks, where Mohinder was opening up his laptop case and pulling out the device. Sylar leaned over Sebastian’s empty chair and lifted a couple sheets of coffee-stained paper to peer at.

“Sylar, out of his things,” Mohinder warned as he booted his laptop up, taking it over to the orderly section of the room. “And roll up your sleeve; I’m going to take blood.”

“Mm, my favorite part. You’re so good with the needles.” Sylar put down Sebastian’s papers and walked over to Mohinder, scooting up a stool to his side and sitting on it, ankles braced on the bottom rung. He watched Mohinder move about the lab, pulling out his supplies from various drawers, seeming for all the world like a professional man who would never keep a desk space as horrific as the one behind them.

Sylar unbuttoned the two buttons of his sleeve and rolled it up high over his bicep, watching Mohinder with a slightly amused expression on his face. The look was contagious in its own way, and though Mohinder tried not to, he ended up smiling a bit as he tied the stretchy rubber tourniquet tightly.

“What?” Mohinder asked, turning Sylar’s arm over onto the counter, inner elbow exposed. He swabbed the man’s arm with antiseptic, watching Sylar’s eyes as Sylar’s eyes watched him.

“Nothing, Mohinder. Nothing at all,” he replied casually, his stare locked with the doctor’s as Mohinder took out a vacutainer for drawing blood. Mohinder held Sylar’s arm still at the joint and then pushed it in quickly, causing the man to hiss through his teeth while Mohinder taped down the base. Sylar turned a sharp eye to the doctor.

Mohinder met the look Sylar tossed, and something of a smirk worked its way between them while Mohinder pushed the first blood tube into the vacutainer, watching it begin to fill with deep, red blood. Though Mohinder looked between the tube filling and Sylar, Sylar’s eyes remained fixed on Mohinder’s face, a mischievous glint lingering. 

“You’re giving me that look again,” Mohinder warned, taking out the first tube and fitting the next carefully into the base. When he looked up again, he felt Sylar’s fingers slipping into his hair, and suddenly Sylar’s lips were over his, kissing smoothly. Shocked though he was, Mohinder’s eyes fluttered closed automatically, and he found himself familiar with the small thrill this man always gave him.

Sylar rubbed his thumb slowly over Mohinder’s cheek, tilting his head as his lips moved in deeper- “Ow!” -but then he felt a tight pinch in his arm and parted their lips.

Mohinder had pushed the next tube for blood in blindly and hard, quite on purpose, and he was smiling a sneaky smile against Sylar’s lips. “I’m at work. Behave,” he murmured, leaning back again. 

A satisfied expression seemed to settle on Sylar’s face, enjoying that, at the very least, Mohinder returned his teasing. The playful back and forth game between them was like a dance, one they stepped through delicately around the laboratory all morning. Chatting quietly about theory shoulder to shoulder over Mohinder’s laptop, Sylar stealing a grasp of Mohinder’s hip when he leaned in to look at a microscope, Mohinder’s white-toothed smile as he shrugged off the hold... Once upon a time, this number would have been one of avoidance, of bitter, suspicious gazes, but, over their time together, the music had changed and something new pervaded the air.

“Ah, Mohinder, you’re here!”

But a foreign note was being struck, and suddenly the euphony became cacophony.

Mohinder looked up and Sylar’s hand fell away from its touch on the man’s leg. He listened as the smooth click and confident walk of dress shoes entered the room. “Sebastian, there you are.” Mohinder smiled. “Are you getting together your things for the conference?” he asked, moving a little away from Sylar.

The blonde-haired man smiled and nodded, crossing the room to greet them. “Yes, if I can find anything. I see your friend is here today. Working hard instead of taking a vacation while I’m gone?” Sebastian laughed softly, walking over to stand beside them. He placed a friendly hand on Mohinder’s shoulder and squeezed it, looking over at Sylar. “Tom, right?”

Sylar nodded, giving a half smile. “That’s right.”

“And what’s this you’re working on so diligently?” Sebastian asked, leaning in to look between them at the screen. His eyes flickered over the codes Mohinder had pulled up, and though Mohinder gave a slightly nervous look for having his rather sensitive work out in the open and read, Sylar’s eyes were on Sebastian for the lingering hand on Mohinder’s shoulders and the way he leaned in closer to Mohinder than to the center of the empty space before them. His eyes narrowed, and Mohinder seemed to sense the danger, as he stepped back and closed the laptop.

“It’s a bit of a private project, something I may discuss with you later if it’s relevant,” Mohinder said easily, smiling. “But it’s really not ready yet, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, of course. Nosy of me.” Sebastian smiled, patting Mohinder’s back and then stepping away. “It’ll be an interesting conference, I think,” Sebastian said as he walked around the two and headed to his desk. He began to shuffle around his papers, searching for something lost amid the sea of disorganization. “If I could only find my papers…” Sebastian murmured.

Sylar turned and leaned back against the cabinet, bracing his palms behind him as he watched the man. Sebastian flipped through his work and lifted books until finally a manila folder revealed itself with his cry of delight.

“There we are. I need to get this downstairs.” Sebastian hurried around his desk, doing a little jog, and then came to fumbling halt before he reached the door. “Oh, Mohinder!” he began, making Mohinder lift his eyebrows in question, “Don’t let me forget, there’s something we need to talk about later, privately.” Sebastian smiled, gave them a little salute, and then hastened out the door, letting it fall shut behind him.

Sylar put a skeptical look to Mohinder. “Privately?” The very words made a certain bloodlust swell in Sylar’s gut. He didn’t like Sebastian any more than the first day; he didn’t like the way the man smiled all the time, the way he touched Mohinder so casually, the way he seemed to shrug everything off he didn’t find important like it was his prerogative. 

Mohinder, however, merely shook his head, giving Sylar the same dismissive treatment. “It’s probably work related, Sylar. Forget it.”

But Sylar would not, not now that he was able to lay a little claim to Mohinder here, in the one place that had been untouchable to him up until now. Sylar moved forward and placed his hands against Mohinder’s hips, pulling him away from the counter and into the open, making Mohinder face him. Sylar then walked forward, making Mohinder move slowly backwards step by step as Sylar gradually closed the space between them.

“I don’t like him,” Sylar stated seriously, dark eyes watching Mohinder’s brown ones intently.

“You don’t like anybody,” Mohinder countered, giving a nervous glance to the door as he stumbled back each step. “…Someone might come in.”

“I don’t hear anyone. You’re changing the subject. I don’t trust him. He touches you a lot,” Sylar stated his disapproval directly, a little twitch to his features when he said it.

“He’s friendly,” Mohinder replied.

“He’s suspicious.”

“He’s eccentric.”

“So am I.”

“Yes you are, aren’t you?” Mohinder frowned pointedly.

“That’s why I don’t trust him.”

“And because he touches me.”

Sylar’s steps back pushed Mohinder against the wall, narrowly missing a door handle. “Only I touch you,” he murmured low, pressing closer to Mohinder, so that their hips bumped and his hands slid to the man’s waist.

A sudden look of daring crossed Mohinder’s lips, and he thought for a moment that he might play Sylar’s game to diffuse him. Mohinder was the one to smirk. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“Not jealous, possessive,” Sylar replied smoothly, dipping his head in to inhale the scent of Mohinder’s hair and throat. He could give in to half of that statement, replacing one fixation with another. It was no secret that Mohinder was his; he had established that again and again over these months. But he had nothing to envy of Sebastian’s, he felt. Nothing but time with Mohinder that he would slowly take back.

Mohinder drew in a breath between parted lips, feeling the strength of Sylar’s hold on his sides keenly. Sylar could keep him here for as long as he wanted, he knew, but it didn’t mean he had to make this easy. “Someone could walk in, Sylar. Not here. We can play as much as you want at home, but-”

“I don’t hear anyone nearby,” Sylar repeated, lips over the pulse of Mohinder’s artery and tongue tasting the skin there. He felt Mohinder’s hands move up to his chest to push him away, but Sylar only pulled Mohinder to bring their hips harder together, lifting his head to watch Mohinder’s face when he gasped. It was a sight that never stopped bringing him satisfaction.

“Sylar stop it, we’re not going to do this here,” Mohinder whispered, fingers gripping the dark blue fabric of Sylar’s shirt.

“You’re right, we’re not.” Sylar pressed his lips hard against Mohinder’s, pulling his whole body forward against his own as his mind tugged open the door to their right. There was a quick turn of their bodies, and Mohinder felt the room spin as, suddenly, he heard the sound of a door slamming and an abrupt cloak of darkness covered them. Mohinder felt himself pushed hard against cold metal behind him, and Sylar’s body was just the opposite, warm as it pinned him there. “We’re going to do this here,” Sylar breathed out, lips seeking Mohinder’s again in the darkness.

The doctor’s breath caught in his throat as he felt Sylar’s hands moving down and back up his sides, pushing beneath his lab coat to feel closer to his skin. “I’m going to get you for this.” Mohinder promised that threat, but it was followed by the abrupt movement of his fingers to the sides of Sylar’s face and the blind crashing of Mohinder’s lips to the taller man’s. They began to kiss deeply, desperately, lips locked and tongues competing for control.

Touches were no softer; Sylar slipped a thigh between Mohinder’s, grinding up against the man as his hands roughly yanked Mohinder’s lab coat from his body, bumping him to the door in the process. The small noises Mohinder made were as delectable as they had always been, but Sylar felt the experience powerfully heightened by the danger of the professional place, by the complete mask of darkness in which touch and sound ruled all. He had forced Mohinder to a new level, and Sylar soaked in every instant of it.

Mohinder knew he should have known better, should have objected more strongly to this being where it was. But, at the same time, he felt the same sort of tension he had in the very beginning of Sylar’s advances, when denial had seemed mandatory but release so much more satisfying. He didn’t need to try quite so hard anymore, he realized, nor did he want to. There was a certain challenge to this situation, one Sylar posed with his daring attentions, and Mohinder was not about to back down himself and be fully taken advantage of. Mohinder moved his nimble fingertips down the front of Sylar’s shirt, unbuttoning as he went, and he felt his own buttons popping open on Sylar’s whim in spite of the hands that were sliding down the backs of his thighs.

As Sylar’s mouth broke from Mohinder’s and moved to his exposed throat, the darker man gave a strong tug at the waist of Sylar’s pants, undoing their clasp and unzipping quickly. But no sooner had he done that than he was being turned again, and, in an instant, his chest was met with cold metal, Sylar’s figure a strong pressure against his back. Lips were at the curve of his ear, and Sylar’s breath sounded heavily in it, his voice husky.

“ _Listen to that heart beating… Don’t tell me you’ve never been quite this scandalous before, doctor,_ ” Sylar breathed, pushing down the rest of the fabric about his own waist and pressing his hot, aroused flesh against the back of Mohinder’s slacks. His hands then moved around Mohinder’s waist, undoing his belt deftly with one hand while the other snaked inside, wrapping around Mohinder’s already full erection.

A soft moan came from Mohinder’s lips, and he bowed his forehead against the icy metal before him, palms laid flat against it for balance. “ _Have you?_ ” he whispered back, arching into his lover’s hand, biting down on his lower lip from the ache. He could almost feel the smirk spreading across Sylar’s face, even if he could not see a thing. The air was thick and heavy already with their breaths.

“ _Every night, Mohinder._ ” Sylar tugged down the man’s pants and boxers to his ankles with a flick of his mind, and slowly ran a hand around his bare hip, pushing up the tails of his dress shirt that dared cover the bare skin of his backside. “ _In my dreams, while you sleep beside me…_ ” Sylar drew his occupied hand in languid, teasing strokes, spitting in the other before coating himself. He pressed his lips to Mohinder’s shoulder, where fabric gone askew had revealed a single area of flesh to nip and kiss. “ _I imagine all the dirty things I could do to you…all the ways you’d say no before you said yes…_ ”

Pressing himself to Mohinder’s entrance, Sylar savored the moment, drawing his thumb slowly in circles over the head of Mohinder’s straining erection. He heard the man groan, breath tightening, and in the distance beyond them, the click of familiar shoes. How very perfect. Pushing in sharply, Sylar brought his free hand up to cover Mohinder’s mouth when the man moaned, waiting for that instant of adjustment to pass, moving his hips in carefully slow measures. Sylar then lowered his hand, wrapping that arm possessively around Mohinder’s chest to steady the man as he thrust faster, hand beginning to work in time with his movements.

Mohinder began gasping, reaching up a hand to grip Sylar’s arm tightly, the other pressed hard to the door for his balance. All he could hear were their breaths in the pitch black, the slap of skin against skin as Sylar drove into him and pumped his hand skillfully in rhythm. With legs tangled in fabric, Mohinder could hardly maneuver himself, but when Sylar began to work harder, burying deeper into his body with each thrust, Mohinder finally gave in and bent lower with a moan, placing both hands wide against the metal before him.

Grasping Mohinder forcefully, Sylar tried to divide his focus, the enrapture of Mohinder’s muscles making that difficult. He stretched his hearing just far enough for it to matter, and when he heard the sound of the lab door opening and feet entering- then pausing at the sound of Mohinder’s desperate voice, muffled but audible- a victorious grin broke across Sylar’s face. He slammed immediately harder, making Mohinder cry out and almost lose his footing, a forearm colliding with the door through their heavy breaths. Sylar heard that third heartbeat speed up, and then the footsteps promptly turned about and exited. A different feeling of satisfaction spread through Sylar, and he hastened his speed, hand stroking mercilessly as his hips abused Mohinder’s body to the most appetizing of limits.

A weak whimper came from Mohinder’s throat, and one of his hands shot quickly down to grip the wrist of the hand that was working him hard. Mohinder’s body tightened almost painfully, and he struggled ardently to hold back the cry his orgasm caused. Sylar reveled for once less in the sounds and more in the throb in his hands, the pulse over his fingers as he pushed fiercely into Mohinder, gritting his teeth and stifling his groan while his muscles seized and an overwhelming burn tore through his body as he came. 

As they were left panting, legs weak, Sylar pulled out, using the arm about Mohinder’s chest to turn him over and press him back against the door. It surprised Sylar that Mohinder’s lips were the ones to move first, taking his deeply, but it gave him an unusually calm feeling inside. He pressed his sticky hand to the door to hold himself while the fingers of Mohinder’s hand threaded into Sylar’s black hair, lips stealing their moment. 

When they pulled back the barest inch, Sylar had forgotten to care about whether or not Sebastian had heard their play in the storage closet and was more concerned with the chill down Mohinder’s back from the cold surface he touched. Sylar breathed slower, listening to Mohinder do the same as his body calmed.

“ _I…_ ” Sylar began, licking his lips. But words wouldn’t come, and only that broken vowel made it past his tongue at first. He drew a hand slowly down the sweaty small of Mohinder’s back. “ _I… Mohinder…_ ”

But the man merely smiled an invisible smile, and took Sylar’s lips again. “ _I know._ ” There was no need for the terrifying words. What would change if they were or were not said? _“Let’s get cleaned up so I can properly beat the hell out of you when the lights are on,”_ Mohinder suggested, chuckling quietly as his fingers slid through Sylar’s hair, stroking gently.

A short breath of relief passed through Sylar’s lips, and he stepped back from the man, giving him a little space to correct his disheveled self. “You don’t happen to keep towels in here…?” he asked with a small smirk.

 

It was not until half an hour after proper order had been restored to their clothing and the men had returned to more productive interaction that anyone else appeared in Mohinder’s laboratory. Predictably, that person was Sebastian, and he walked in with a smile that was a little less quick, but a heart beat just the opposite, a touch of color on his pale skin.

“There you are, Mohinder. I was looking for you.” 

Sylar glanced up from the laptop displaying Mohinder’s research codes and leaned back a little in his chair, watching as Mohinder set down the packet of papers in his hand. 

“You were? Did you need something, Sebastian?”

There was a certain pleased look on Sylar’s face that seemed to communicate itself obviously, and Sebastian appeared to focus in on Mohinder first as he approached, not meeting the gaze of the more dangerous man. “Yes, actually. I’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning for my conference, but I wanted to ask you something. The both of you, actually.” Sebastian looked to Sylar finally and graced him with a warm smile, though a knowing look seemed to pass between them.

Mohinder glanced over at this exchange, wondering, but smiled none the less. “Something we can answer, I hope.”

“Most certainly.” Sebastian reached out and put a hand to each of their shoulders, a pleasant expression on his face. “How would the two of you like to go out for drinks tonight, my treat?”

The doctor blinked at that, taken aback, and again his eyes flickered between the two who may as well have been spoken enemies instead of unspoken, according to Sylar. “Ah… I’m not sure, ..-Tom, you see, isn’t much of a drinker…”

“I don’t care for beer, that is,” Sylar interrupted with a broad smile, reaching over and patting Mohinder with a tough thump on the back that could have been mistaken for friendly and nothing more. “The good doctor here got me rather drunk when we were touring around in England, but I won’t pass up a nice wine, if they have it. Sounds great, Doctor Godard. What time?”

Mohinder felt a keen sense of impending doom come over him, and he couldn’t help but feel for the life of him like some sort of competition was to ensue. A few drinks before it came to pass weren’t starting to sound like a bad idea at all.

“How does eight-thirty sound?”


End file.
